


you'll take my side (and stay)

by cxyst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Speech Disorders, Stuttering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxyst/pseuds/cxyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn smiles properly then, eyes crinkling to mirror the slow warmth of liam’s grin. and he thinks, who on earth is this ridiculous boy, and why has it taken him so long to arrive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll take my side (and stay)

**Author's Note:**

> zayn stutters and liam is liam
> 
> very short and a little silly but oh baby this was painful!! also my first ever time writing ziam, so let me know if it was awful hahaha :))
> 
> title from waiting on the day by john mayer

001\. the meet cute

the bar is quiet and small. it’s almost too warm, with the heavy wet summer heat soaking in from outside, but zayn doesn’t care. he’s had a stilted day. he needs alcohol.

he avoids the bartender’s eyes, steeling himself for the embarrassment of ordering his drink. he tries to set his face in an apologetic expression, just to be prepared. he wishes he could start every conversation with an explanation, but if he’s honest, he wouldn’t know where to begin. it’s all an apology in the end. zayn is an apology.

‘j-ju-j-j-ju-just.’ he takes a deep breath, down into his stomach. ‘just a w-whiskey thanks.’

he lets his white-knuckled grip on the bar loosen a little, his shoulders relaxing. he looks up at the bartender properly. he’s really fit, zayn had noticed that when he came in, but now his muscles and chiselled jawline are offset against the softest brown eyes zayn has ever seen.

‘sure mate,’ the guy says, smiling, big hands already reaching for the glass and the bottle. ‘anything else?’ he bites his lip on meeting zayn’s eyes again, and his gaze flicks up and down. the way he twists his hands together as he checks zayn out is so endearing that he manages a small smile back.

‘c-cr-crisps?’ he points to the packets at the other end of the bar.

the bartender nods and goes to pour some crisps into a bowl. zayn’s tongue is still working around a phantom word; he concentrates on stilling it as he stares at the guy’s broad shoulders.

when he comes back, there is a little flush to his cheeks. ‘on the house,’ he says, smile crinkling up his eyes.

zayn wants to tell him he isn’t a charity case, that his stutter shouldn’t mean special treatment, but he knows his mouth will catch on the beginning, on the alliteration. it’s something he’s used to now, staying silent when he knows he should speak up.

but then the bartender flushes darker and says, ‘you’re the fittest bloke i’ve seen in, uh,’ he coughs. ‘maybe ever, so-’

zayn feels another small smile spreading across his face. people hit on him often, he’ll admit that, but he can only remember a couple of instances where people have continued to flirt with him after he’s opened his mouth.

the guy is talking again, ‘sorry if you’re not, y’know, gay or whatever. i just. take it as a compliment, you get free drinks, i guess. i’ll leave you be-’

talking is so much harder when he’s under pressure, but zayn clenches his fists and forces out the syllables. ‘n-n-no, it’s f- it’s f-f-fi-f-fine. i am, y’know,’ he smiles, ‘y-yeah.’

it sounds like it’s started raining outside, like the swollen clouds have finally decided to stop suffocating the city and set the humidity free. there is soft music playing from a dock under the shelves of bottles. the bartender’s eyes are warm, like melted chocolate or black coffee.

‘oh! okay, wow, that’s good. really, uh, great, yeah.’

zayn kind of likes the way he babbles. it’s adorable, of course, but it also makes him feel a little better about his own speech. liam’s difficulties obviously aren’t as bad as zayn’s, but it’s kind of comforting to know that he’s not the only one who struggles with conversation.

‘i’m z-z-zayn,’ he says. he takes a sip of his drink, trying to calm down a little, trying to reduce the stutter. it hits him that now feels like a good moment to apologise for it. ‘s-s-sorry a-about my stu-st-stutter.’

‘liam,’ the bartender says, leaning a hip against the bar. his fingers twist around his belt loops, and his arms look strong and capable. zayn wants to feel those muscles move under his hands. ‘and no problem. barely noticed it if i’m honest.’

zayn smiles properly then, eyes crinkling to mirror the slow warmth of liam’s grin. and he thinks, who on earth is this ridiculous boy, and why has it taken him so long to arrive. 

 

002\. call me yours

it’s just that zayn has never met anyone so patient. even through the litany of doctors and speech therapists, the people his mother paid to listen, (payed to fix him, somehow), zayn has never come across anything like it. it’s not just that liam is perfectly content sitting back and listening to him get out a full sentence, because his mother and sisters do that just fine. it’s the way he is never waiting.

too often people jump in over the top of zayn, cut off his stammering with the word he is searching for, thinking they’re being helpful. or even if they don’t cut in, he can see them wanting to. most of the time, it’s exactly what zayn wanted to say anyway, and it moves the conversation along and he forgets about it. it wasn’t until he met liam that he realised how much it got to him. 

because it’s like liam honest to god doesn’t notice. 

like when they’re sitting across from each other on their fifth date, ankles hooked, warm, under the table, and zayn’s caught on the beginning of his youngest sister’s name. his eyes flick up instinctively - waiting to see liam’s gaze drifting, see his agitation win out, see him start to cut zayn off - but nothing happens. he is just watching, gently. his ankle bone drags against the hem of zayn’s jeans as he shifts his foot, but it’s relaxing, almost grounding. 

‘s-s-safaa,’ he finally gets out, shoulders dropping slightly in relief, ‘had her first day of h-high school today.’

‘oh yeah?’ liam grins, toes soothing up the back of zayn’s calf. ‘how did it go?’

zayn’s stomach is twisting around itself in the sweetest way. he swallows down the ‘thank you’, the ‘i adore you’, the ‘you are everything i have ever wanted’, to say, ‘yeah, she s-s-said it w-w-wa-w-was fun.’

 

003\. oh baby oh sweetheart

when zayn gets fired for the third time in as many months, he forgoes his usual wallowing routine (a pack of cigarettes and bottle of bourbon, old r’n’b music playing loud enough that he can’t hear himself stutter over the lyrics) and drives to liam’s.

‘they fired me,’ he says when liam opens the door. the sentence runs smooth despite the lump in his throat., because liam’s eyes are such a deep, calming brown and so, so patient. ‘they said it was because of b-b-budget cuts b-but it’s because i stutter.’

liam bites his lip and pulls him in gently, fits zayn’s head against his chest and murmurs, ‘oh babe,’ into his hair. and when zayn’s shoulders tense up and the tears start coming, he just slides one of his huge hands around zayn’s waist and holds him closer.

zayn only lets himself cry for a second, before he swallows down a sob the same way he’s swallowed down so many words, and pulls back. ‘i’m fine, it’s f-f-f-f-fine.’

liam squeezes zayn’s hip and strokes his free hand up his neck and babbles, ‘i’m sure you’ll find a job that works out, i’m sure you will. people are awful, but not the ones that matter, okay? you don’t need them, you don’t need that job because who wants to work in a place like that shit-hole anyway. also the manager was ugly.’ he looks encouraged by zayn’s tiny smile. ‘yeah, he was really really fat and ugly, inside and out, but you’re beautiful, you’re so so gorgeous and everybody would see that you’re so clever and funny if they would only give you a chance to show it. but i know, babe, i know and i love you-’

liam looks shocked for a second, like he didn’t mean to say it. and zayn thinks again that maybe he’s not the only one with a curse on his tongue. then liam nods, like he’s reassuring himself, and leans down to kiss zayn softly, so much at odds with the way zayn can feel his heart pounding under his t-shirt. 

‘yeah,’ liam says. his lips drag on zayn’s jawline. ‘yeah, i love you.’

and there is a hole in zayn’s chest where fluency should be, where teasing and discrimination has chipped away at him. it is jagged like the scar under his ear where he was pushed into a brick wall in third grade, and it is cold like the eyes of the fourth speech therapist to give up on him. 

but zayn thinks liam might be slowly, gently, healing it.


End file.
